Mascot airport, home at last; no
more gunfire, no more stinking clothes, mud, rain and humid nights without
sleep. There's that steak I'm looking forward to and the baked dinners with real
veggies and gravy and that leg of Lamb ... the whole hog! No more tinned milk,
fish and veg. I now have gone full circle, from whence I left, I have returned.

"Mascot Bloody airport and I feel great!"You get off the plane, collect your luggage and
wait to go through Customs. They don't really give you a
hard time as they are mainly interested in banned goods
and they don't search everything. You mainly fill out a
form disclosing what you have and they look at those
items that might contravene importation or quarantine
laws. drugs and firearms are at the top of the list.

The trip
home had been a good one and everyone is in high
spirits, some of the blokes even kissed the ground after
disembarking. We even went for a trip around some island
at thirty five thousand feet, just a bit of a treat from
the flight crew. Pilots showing off their skills;
although some of the blokes reckon that's where they get
their 'Lock-Stat.' The rest of us shouted, just
get us home! With great gusto they did. The flight staff
were magnificent, they even cracked a few tinnies and
funnies. I thought...."How did they cope with us?"

We get
through the gates to meet the families. I missed my
children the most. The usual hugs and kisses and then
time for the Pay Queue. What a shemozzle! I have never
seen anything so unorganised in my life! It's first in
line here, even the officers waited in line. No
privilege of rank; as some of the blokes are to fly onto
other states and country areas and they have flights to
catch. besides everyone wants to get out of here.

Well
anyway on with the story, and this is where the plot
changes. here I am waiting in line like everybody else,
when I'm approached by this little germ, a Lance
Corporal Provost and with all his self appointed
authority. "Your wearing boots and where's your tie and
why are your sleeves rolled up!"..... I was also wearing
a beret.

"Jack's revenge at last; though short lived.!"
I tried to explain that the Q Store didn't have any
shoes, ties, or Slouch Hats to issue. Did this
explanation suit him?....Not on your life! By this time
there was quite a crowd of Diggers and family members
and it was time for me to put him in his place, and to
the delight of the Diggers this was quite a show. Now
the Drill Instructor in me erupted and paid this little
Shit Head a visit. I'm just in the mood to sort this
prick out. You see, I might only be a Corporal, but I've
just returned from Vietnam and I'm in no mood for this
bullshit! This little half-baked turd hasn't been there
yet and he's lucky he's struck me, as there are some
present who would dearly love to punch the living shit
out of this miserable excuse for a man....More thoughts
unprintable!

I began.
"To start with Lance Corporal, when you address me you
will stand to attention!" "For you are not only blind
but rude too, and if you don't know how to stand to
attention and address me by rank, I will be only too
pleased to teach you right here and now!" Well, you've
never heard so many cat calls and whistles, even a wolf
whistle or two. So, red-faced, he goes away and comes
back with this Sergeant who for all intents and purpose
was to jump all over me. By this time, Sir Galahad,
being of officer material, steps out of the line and
pulls the Sergeant to one side, stands the Sergeant to
attention, gets a salute and informs the Sergeant of the
Lance Corporal's conduct. Then I inform the Sergeant
that charges are to be brought against the Lance
Corporal; You should have seen his jaw drop! When my
turn to get paid arrived I dropped the charges. I told
the sergeant he was lucky it didn't turn ugly as some of
these blokes have very short fuses and it could have
turned very nasty.